


loving to ruins

by biblicalmate



Series: exit wounds [2]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Implied/Referenced Cheating, and we continue to not be surprised by it, no happy endings to be had here baby, tommy continues to be a dick, we continue with the angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 05:57:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18382364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblicalmate/pseuds/biblicalmate
Summary: John’s wedding forces the confrontation you’ve been putting off for months, and it quickly becomes clear that time does not heal all wounds.





	loving to ruins

**Author's Note:**

> in the process of cross-posting my fics from tumblr here, though a little edited, so if you've read them before that might be why!

Life without Tommy is… strange.

The first two weeks are spent with you aching, a hollowed out thing that can only cry and sleep and cry some more. Your parents take you in without question when you show up on their door, tear stained and heartbroken, and you don’t think you could love them more for that. They give you your time to grieve, to mourn the relationship and the life you had, and then they help you get back on your feet.

You’ve spent years working for the Shelby family, helping with the books and the business as needed. Polly visits you, three weeks into the separation, to assure you there’ll always be a paying job with them if you need it, but the thought of having to spend the next few months with Tommy as nothing more than your boss makes you sick. You start work at the bakers, instead, holed up in the back with the books where it’s just you and the numbers to make sense of.

If only you could make sense of everything else.

You find yourself your own flat soon enough, and it’s tiny and rundown off your salary but it’s  _yours_. You’ve never had a space entirely your own before; you’ve gone from your parent’s home to Tommy’s and back again, but the flat with the ageing wallpaper and screaming neighbours is entirely yours. You love it completely, decorate it just to your tastes without having to worry about anyone else.

You rekindle friendships that had faded as you got accepted into the Shelby family, rediscover hobbies that had fell to the wayside in favour of practical things like how to clean and stitch up a wound, or how to balance the odds of a race  _just so_. You keep yourself busy with work and friends and pastimes you used to enjoy, and there are moments of brilliant happiness, true and uncomplicated joy.

But there are still days where the thought of getting out of bed makes you feel like you’re preparing to climb a mountain, still nights where you bury your head in your pillow to muffle the sobs. More times than you can count you catch yourself turning to tell Tommy something or reaching for his hand absentmindedly only to realise he’s not there, and it’s like your heart breaks all over again.

So, yes, life without Tommy is strange and wonderful and terrible and so, so  _hard_ that sometimes you feel like you can barely breathe. But it’s still life, still you getting through each day and finding it that tiniest bit easier than the one before.

The strangest thing about it, you think, is his totalabsence. Polly and Ada and Arthur and John, even little Finn — you see them all intermittently, meet for tea or a drink or a trip to the pictures, because even though it never got to be official they all still see you as part of the family. But Tommy just seems to become a non-entity; he’s hardly mentioned by the others, and you never even so much as catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye when you’re brave enough to visit the house.

It makes it easier, in a way. Without him there, it’s easier to tell yourself that you’re getting over him. You don’t have to test that theory out by being around him and facing the complicated net of emotions that your feelings towards Tommy has become. But you miss him. It’s stupid and foolish, but you miss him. Because for all that he hurt you, for all that he let you walk away from the ruins of your relationship without even a token protest, you still fucking love him. You think a part of you is going to be in love with forever, no matter how much you want to hate him or even just feel nothing at all towards him.

He’s  _Tommy_. The smiling boy who’d handed you flowers on your first date when you were still kids, the nervous man who’d been your first kiss and first lover and first everything, even the hardened solider who’d never really been able to leave the war behind. You’ve loved him since were ten years old, gap-toothed and muddy from wrestling with a stupid boy who said girls couldn’t throw a punch. You don’t think you know how to even  _breathe_  without being a little bit in love with Thomas Shelby.

So four months slip by with you fighting against your own heart, Tommy just a ghost that leaves a hole in your life that’s so tangible you can almost feel it, and you convincing yourself all the while that none of it matters anymore.

And then John gets married.

Polly’s the one to tell you, of course, because Polly’s always the one to tell you things. She tells you all about Tommy’s clever plan to ally with the Lees and double-cross Kimber, a pretty speech about how it’s a day for family and that you’re still family, wedding ring or not, and how John would want you to be there just like you were when he married Martha.

You don’t ask about Tommy, and Polly doesn’t offer any information. You know he’ll be there, have a lurking suspicion that he knows that Polly will invite you to come, and it makes your stomach twist into knots. It’s been months of nothing from Tommy, and the thought of facing him makes you so nervous you’re almost sick with it. It would be so, so easy to say no, to put off the inevitable confrontation for longer.

But Polly’s right. John might not know he’s getting married, but you know him well enough to know that if he did he’d want you there; he’d already told you about Lizzie, after all, and the implication of your attendance had been there then. And for all that the thought of Tommy fills you with  _hate-love-hurt_ you know you have to be there, for John if nothing else.

Polly gives you a little while to get ready, which is more stressful than you’ll ever admit. Trying to dress for a wedding where the groom doesn’t know it’s happening and also happens to be brother to the man who broke your heart is difficult, to say the least. You eventually settle on a dress, trying desperately to ignore the fact it’s one of the ones Tommy always used to love you wearing, and with a quick fluff of your hair you and Polly leave for the wedding.

Ada meets you on the way, stomach swollen and skin glowing with her pregnancy, and the three of you chat of nothing in particular as you try to soothe your roiling stomach. Polly links her arm through Ada’s, and Ada reaches out to grasp your shaking hand as you approach the rows of people standing to attention, watching the couple facing Johnny Dogs.

Your eyes find Tommy immediately, and it’s like an instant pressure on your chest; he looks tall and strong and proud as he looks at John, and it’s only Ada’s tight grip on your hand that stops you from bolting. Both she and Polly shoot you reassuring looks, murmuring comforting words to you, but then — the fucking traitorous conspirators that they are — the two of them deposit you beside Tommy and slip away to stand the other side of Arthur, and it’s like the world tilts as Tommy’s bright blue eyes meet yours for the first time in months.

He breathes out your name, the sound of it sending shivers down your spine, his voice all velvet and thunder, and you’re really starting to wonder why the fuck you thought this would be a good idea. “Glad to see you accepted the invitation.”

You swallow back the curses that want to spill from your tongue, the accusations and condemnations all. “Tommy,” you manage, curt and rough. “I’m here for John.”

_Not you_ , goes unsaid, but you can tell he hears it from the way the muscle in his jaw twitches with annoyance. Your lips quirk into a smirk for a fleeting moment before you smooth the expression over, and Tommy huffs out a breath as he shifts so close that you can feel the heat radiating from him. He says nothing for a moment, just stands besides you and stares ahead, and you try to ignore the thundering of your heart.

Your body, traitor that it is, flushes at his closeness, eager to have him in your arms again for all that your mind is telling you to pull away. Your breathing hitches, heart racing as Tommy stares down at you with the kind of look that would have had you on your knees for him four months ago but now just makes you ache to your bones. Determinedly you turn your attention back to John and his new bride, but you can feel the weight of Tommy’s gaze burn into you.

“You’re missing the ceremony,” you hiss at him from the corner of your mouth. You’re proud of how steady your voice is.

“Rather watch you,” he returns, voice low and rumbling.

The words make your shoulders stiffen, darting a quick glance at him before resolutely fixing your gaze ahead. You don’t bother with a response, knowing that this isn’t the time to engage him, but you can feel yourself tense all over as anger flares up inside you. He’s  _flirting_. As if the last four months weren’t filled with his gaping absence, as if he hadn’t pulled your heart from your chest without giving a single fuck about it.

He makes your blood boil, but there’s still a part of you that wants to fist your hands in his jacket and pull him down into you, wants his mouth on yours, his arms around your waist as everything in the world narrows down just to you and Tommy and nothing else except for the love blooming between you. Fuck, but this is hard, and your ex-fiance isn’t making things any easier.

“You look good,” he says after a drawn out pause.

“Thank you,” you reply, voice tight as you try to bite down on all the other things you want to say. You want to scream at him, let him know how badly he tore your heart to bits. You want to sob into his chest, let him heal all the hurts he wrought. You want to kiss him. You want to hit him. You want to breathe him in. You want him to stop fucking breathing. You want, you want, you want—

Applause starts up as the ceremony finishes, and you’re a beat behind everyone before joining in. There’s a surge of movement from the crowd as they go to congratulate the newly wedded pair, and you use the commotion to slip away from Tommy. You tuck yourself behind one of the carts, instead, taking deep breaths in an attempt to steady yourself.

It’s clear to you now that you’re so very  _not_ over Tommy, and the realisation makes your head spin, because you don’t know how you’re supposed to be here and do this and still be in love with him even after everything he’s done. Your eyes burn with tears and your heart aches and your body feels tiny and fragile and for a long, long moment all you can do is breathe.

When you feel more yourself, breathing deep and even, you reintegrate with the crowd. It’s easy work to find John and offer him congratulations, accepting his hug with a laugh and a smile, and from there you let yourself get swept up in the atmosphere. It’s a good distraction; singing and drinking and dancing, and as the sun starts to set the fire is lit and you feel a little bit free, even with the constant awareness of where Tommy is and how he isn’t taking his eyes off of you for a second.

You step away from the festivities after a while, needing to cool down after the whirl of dancing around a roaring fire, and you don’t even have it in you to be surprised when Tommy materialises beside you. It’s typical, really. He disappears for four months and then when he finally shows up you can’t get rid of him.

“Having a good time?” he queries, and it’s a carefully casual sort of tone, like he wants to know the answer but doesn’t want you to know that.

“It’s a good wedding,” you reply, noncommittal and bland. You hope it’ll put him off, but you should have known better. Thomas Shelby isn’t one to give up easy when he sets his mind to something. If only he had set his mind to not fucking cheating on you.

“It’s really good to see you,” Tommy tells you, the tiniest hint of earnestness bleeding through, and you get the distinct impression that this conversation is about to head in a direction you really aren’t prepared for.

“I can’t honestly say the same.” You offer an emotionless smile, arms wrapping around your waist. You’re already done with this pointless chatter; the sense of impending agony is slowly creeping in. You make your voice cold and flat, digging your hands into the fabric of your dress to hide their shaking. “Haven’t you got a barmaid you should be fucking instead of bothering me, Thomas?”  

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. We’re doing that now then, are we?” He runs a hand through his hair, looking like he’s a little on the verge of shattering, and that expression is the only reason you don’t immediately snap at him. “Right then. Let’s fucking have it out, shall we? I haven’t— I haven’t fucking touched  _her_ or any other woman since you left.”

He sounds more desperate now than you’ve ever heard, all the cool bravado from before gone now, and your heart is in your mouth because this is Tommy,  _your_ Tommy, open and vulnerable and as broken as you are. It’s a side of Tommy you haven’t seen in so long that it’s almost foreign, and you feel your heart shatter just that little bit more at the sight of it.

“It’s like I can’t sleep, can’t eat, can barely fucking think without you. I— I miss you. I love you, and I know I fucked up but the thing is— none of this matters without you, alright? None of it fucking matters because I don’t have you anymore.” He reaches for you, hand outstretched, but aborts the motion halfway through at the way you shy away from him. He looks devastated, and it’s an expression you’ve never associated with  _Tommy Shelby_ , and you don’t know you’re going to survive this.

“I need you.” He sounds tired, the kind of bone tired you are when the world just keeps wearing away at you until there’s nothing left but dust and exhaustion. “I don’t know how I’m gonna do any of this without you. You were always my better half, eh?” He attempts a smile but it falters before it ever forms. “I need you back, love. I still— I still love you so fucking much and I know you love me too, for christ’s sake. Let me fix this.”

You’re not surprised to find your face wet, tears dripping down your face, and Tommy is looking at you with fever-bright eyes and it’s all you can do not to collapse into his arms, to melt back into him and forgive every hurt, every lonely night wondering what it was that Grace had that you didn’t, why he reached for her and not you when it got so hard.

But it’s not enough. It’s been four months and you’ve started carefully patching together the broken parts of yourself back together, and you still love him,  _god_ you love him so much you can hardly breathe for it. But it’s not enough. All his words and his touches and the love you can practically feel pouring from him right now — none of it takes away the hurt, none of it removes the taint of  _Grace_ that lingers on every good memory you have of him since the war.

“Tommy,” you whisper, raw and agonised and trembling, and Tommy’s shaking his head in denial because he knows you, knows you better than anyone else on this entire bloody planet, and he knows what’s coming. “I can’t. I’m so— I love you, but I don’t know how to forgive you for this. I don’t think I could ever trust you again.”

Your breathing hitches as you bite back a sob, determined to get this out now you’ve started. “You— you fucking broke me, Tommy. You broke my heart and it was like— you didn’t even care enough at the time to  _try_  to fix it or, or to get me to stay.” You shake your head, crying properly now, and it’s a struggle to speak but you have to say this. “It’s too late. It’s just— it’s all too late. You can’t change what you did, and you can’t fix it, and I can’t forgive you. I can’t just brush it all aside like it never happened, Tommy, cos it did and it nearly fucking destroyed me and I—.”

You cut yourself off, pressing a hand to your chest as you take in a few gulping breaths, and you recognise that Tommy’s almost completely shut down now, face and eyes empty of everything, but his eyelashes are wet and you know this is hurting him. A while ago that would have pleased you in a vindictive way, knowing he’s hurting as you did, but now it just makes you sad and tired and so, so ready to leave.

“I love you so much, still,” you admit it like it’s a sin, whispered and full of shame. Tommy sucks in a breath, face twisting like you’ve just physically punched a hole in his chest, and you hesitate, words on the tip of your tongue. For a moment you consider sparing him the extra heartache, but you need to say this out-loud. You need this closure, and maybe it’s selfish but after everything he’s done you think you deserve a little selfishness. “But I don’t want to, Tommy. I— I don’t wanna be in love with you anymore. I don’t wanna forgive you. I don’t want you to fix this. I just want— I want it all to be done, now. I’m… I’m done, now.”

It’s a relief to say it, to finally admit these things out-loud, but the look on Tommy’s face almost has you taking them back. He looks so  _wrecked,_ like the thought of losing you is actually terrifying to him, and he seems to be scrambling for words but you just can’t fucking do this anymore. You need to not be here anymore.

“I’m sorry, I have to go.” You shake your head, stumbling back from him, and before he has a chance to stop you you’re disappearing into the dark of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr @ biblicalmate :)


End file.
